


He Promises

by OrangeZest100



Series: Paintings of Bruising Purple [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeZest100/pseuds/OrangeZest100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam loses some friends and Lucifer is his own form of reassuring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Promises

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the relationship dynamic is subtext, though I tried to clear some of it up.

Sam sighs, pulls his books closer to his chest, head down and avoiding eye contact.  He bites his bottom lip, works on not crying or hyperventilating like he wants to, it is the middle of campus after all.  It’s hard to believe, possibly because Sam trusts in a way other people might not, because it’s hard for him to get there, to the point of trusting, but then he trusts wholeheartedly.  He hasn’t been getting along with a few of his friends, knew it, but he hoped that they were all just fighting their own demons at the moment, would unite again in the face of adversity.  His friends though, his friends, seemed to know what was wrong with him: arrogant, attention seeking, inconsiderate, rude, disgusting, vile, and worthless.  Sam runs all through all of them in his head, knows the list as easily as his own heart beats, has repeated it to himself over and over throughout the years.  Apparently he’s been inconsiderate, arrogant in his discussions and actions though he would die for them in a heartbeat, kip at the end of their bed to fight off the monsters in the dark, listen to them rant about problems, or even let them take any comfort they need from him.  He would have done it all willingly.  It’s his fault, all his fault, and he didn’t see it and that makes it worse and how is he supposed to be a decent human being when he can’t even be nice.  When he finally has his apartment door shut behind him he’s hyperventilating, quick and shallow breaths of air mixed in with his sobbing, eyes squished shut as tears fall down his cheeks.  Sam presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wills himself until he stops crying, though his tears are just behind the veil.  Sam laughs brokenly, let’s his backpack hit the floor and curls up on the couch to listen to his anxiety song on repeat.

The apartment’s fairly decent, more decent than one Sam would get with any of his college buddies, but his boyfriend is more than happy enough to pay for most of the rent considering Sam’s already working two jobs to make it through Stanford.  It’s furnished well enough, has a small kitchen were the two of them keep some old pots and pans plus plates, bowls, and silverware.  They have Sam’s old futon parked in front of a cheap television, one hand-me-down bed with two pairs of sheets, a couple of nightstands they found at a garage sale with their separate alarm clocks, and maybe they have to walk down the road to wash their clothes, but that’s okay, it’s fine.  Sam is perfectly happy to live with that and the fifteen minute walk into campus.  Sam curls up into the worn fabric of the futon on his right side, flinches slightly when his ear bud digs into his ear, but it’s not important because managing the anxiety is more important than anything else that could be happening to him at the moment.  He hums along slightly and starts when a hand finds his thigh.  Head whipping up, he relaxes instantly into Lucifer’s touch, let’s his boyfriend tap a rhythm into the side of his legs as he discards of his mp3 player.

“What happened,” is the question that holds a statement or a statement that holds a question; Sam is having trouble telling the difference lately.  It’s a full on anxiety attack then, Sam’s sobbing and hyperventilating as he tells the story, screams incomprehensibly and stiffens when Lucifer pulls him into an unwanted hug; Sam hates the contact, the feeling of someone else touching his skin makes him feel like he’s trapped inside it but he feels safe in Lucifer’s arms and his brain wars with the paradox.  “So what if you’re all those things,” Lucifer whispers, presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead as Sam struggles weakly against his arms at the same time that he tries to bury his head further into Luke’s neck.  “Do you like being arrogant and attention seeking, always driving my attention to you, aren’t you, and even now when you’re sniveling and crying you have me hard in my jeans.”  Lucifer steals one of Sam’s hands, forces Sam to palm him through denim and Sam whimpers in distress.  “My arrogant little slut, disgusting and vile in your sexual aspects, aren’t you Sam?  I bet you love it when I let you take me.”  Sam sobs again.  “My beautiful inconsiderate asshole, loves to knock people down, but not me, never me, why is that Sammy?”  Sam’s still crying but he’s curling into a ball on Lucifer’s lap because Luke has become protection for him, maybe he always is.  “You’re mine Samuel, mine, and no one else can have you, no one else can have you like I can, you are my little bitch.”  Lucifer’s still whispering, his breath rustling Sam’s long hair and teasing his ear.  Sam whimpers again, tries to curl himself into a tighter ball, only succeeding in in further plastering himself to Lucifer, who proceeds to rub circles into his back.  “You’re worthless to all of them Sam, but not to me, never me.  I’ll never leave you Sam, never.  You were made for me Sam, only for me, forever.”  Lucifer leans down then and bites at Sam’s neck.

Sam whines, needy and frightened at that, his brain still stuck in a flight or fight reflex, but Lucifer’s stretching his tall frame out on the futon, wrists pinned to the fabric and thighs trapped between legs.  Sam struggles as Lucifer rips his shirt open, starts leaving biting marks on his torso, his hands hard enough to have bruises tomorrow.  Sam struggles, always does, but Luke’s right because who could possibly live him like Lucifer does, completely and without too much judgment, who could think themselves lucky to be his friend.  The answer is always “no one”.  So Sam goes slack in Lucifer’s grasp, let’s his boyfriend mark his body as he pleases, and slowly Lucifer let’s Sam’s wrists go to grasp possessively at his hips.  Sam can touch then, varying between butterfly light and desperate clutching, like he’s afraid to shatter Lucifer and also afraid to lose him every second.  Lucifer just purrs, works on marking Sam as his own because Sam is his, has to be and will be and the world must know exactly who the Winchester belongs too.  Lucifer’s worshipping Sam’s abs when Sam slips a hand down to Lucifer’s jeans, undoes the button and zip, reaches a slightly shaking hand under the elastic of Lucifer’s underwear when they’re interrupted by the buzz of Sam’s cell phone in his jean’s pocket.  Lucifer is glaring at Sam like it’s his fault and Sam’s terrified that Lucifer will leave, that he’ll be alone again, and so he scrambles to reach the phone.  Lucifer starts tracing sigils into Sam’s ribs as Sam checks the caller I.D., frowns when it’s his brother.

Dean only calls when he’s not on hunts with Dad, and only started calling again right before Sam got accepted into law school.  He was so hesitant considering Sam basically was kicked out of the house when he declared he was going to college, but it was just small talk, no business, and it was nice.  Dad and Dean worked as personal security agents, traveled the country to help people with their security.  No permanent houses, just motels and the backseats of their respective vehicles.  Then Dean’s in California for a week and they decide to visit.  Sam had just started seeing Lucifer then, brought him as moral support, and Sam’s surprised to see Dean married to a man named Castiel.  He’s happy for Dean, truly happy, but Dean still rarely calls, rarely picks up the phone, and he is careful around their father in so many ways.  Dean isn’t there for Sam anymore like he used to be, but Lucifer is, Luke always is.  Sam flips the phone open and ignores the glare Lucifer shoots him and the tickling brush of fingers on his skin.  “Hey Dean.”

“Hey dude, um, I was wondering if you could help me with something and—“  Dean’s cut off as Lucifer violently rips the phone from Sam’s grasp.  Sam whimpers because he’s feared for Dean but Lucifer comes first, has to come first, can’t leave him, not ever, not when he was the only one for so long when he was so alone.

“Sammy can’t come to the phone right now, don’t bother leaving a message.”  Lucifer hangs up, throws the phone clear across the room as Sam shivers in fear.  “You are mine Sam,” he growls as he tears every inch of fabric away from Sam’s skin, leaving him shaking and naked on the futon, “mine and absolutely no one else’s.”  Lucifer produces lube from somewhere, barely gets any on two fingers before he’s shoving them roughly into Sam’s ass, making Sam scream from the pain that’s slowly invading into pleasure.  Lucifer leaves love bites one every inch of Sam he can reach as he uses his fingers to work Sam’s ass open.  It’s possessive, so possessive, and Sam knows that the bites will be there for a long time, that there will be Lucifer hand-shaped bruises on his skin for days, knows people will wonder why he’ll wear long sleeves even though it’s April and he’d usually do it anyway.  Sam’s only been half-hard this whole time but Lucifer strokes him to fullness, clamps one hand over Sam’s mouth to hold in the scream as he enters the Winchester roughly and without warning.  Lucifer’s rough and bruising; Sam doesn’t like it, not really, but please don’t leave, don’t ever leave, don’tdon’tdon’t.  So Sam takes it, finds the pleasure in it, comes when he’s told, and if Lucifer wraps him extra tight in blankets, makes him hot chocolate, and pays special focus on completing a half-formed love bite on Sam’s neck afterward, Sam can’t see anything wrong with it.  Lucifer says he’s sorry over and over and Sam will smile, accept the gifts, ignores the hungry look that appears whenever he’s out with Lucifer and someone looks at him for too long.  It’s fine, it’s all fine, because Lucifer will never leave Sam to be alone again.  He promised.

 


End file.
